The Misadventures of the Unfortunate Pants
by lareepqg
Summary: After a growth spurt, Jester invests in a new outfit. A silly little blurp to continue the story train.


_A/N: This story is a part of a series being written by the Jane and the Dragon fanfiction. A complete list of stories can be found in my profile. Now with hyperlinks!_

 _I didn't like my other story, so I put it aside and wrote this one instead._

* * *

It had come to Jester's attention he was in need of new attire.

His regular jester's uniform was still in good repair, though the vibrancy of its hues had long since faded.

No one wanted a dreary-cloud Jester. No they did not.

Even so, the color was not the issue. In the last few months Jester's arms and legs had grown at an alarming rate, sprouting from the cuffs of his sleeves and pants like sickly white shoots off of a muted blue tree. There was nothing poetic (or attractive) about it.

It was most unfortunate.

On the other hand, it was a bit silly looking. As the king's Fool it was perfectly acceptable for him to appear _foolish._ At least, for a while.

Thus it was easy for Jester to forget about the problem when the king requested a new tumbling act for Lavinia's ball.

Jester may be a fool, but like his jokes and melodies, Jester took his acrobatics very, very seriously. The movements had to be precise. Such accuracy required constant practice as one misstep could result in injury or worse: _a poor performance_.

Jester's sudden growth spurt had also thrown off his balance and somehow shifted the ground from where it was supposed to be to somewhere a little off to the left. It was a good thing Jester only practiced in a loose shirt and breeches-the first few passes had left him bruised and bleeding, and would have most certainly ruined his current jester's uniform.

Practice makes perfect, and in the weeks leading up to Lavinia's ball Jester was able to develop and perfect an entirely new routine. In the end Jester was quite pleased with himself. His added reach made back handsprings easier, jumps higher, and his contortions all the more shocking to his audience.

 _A absolute masterpiece of fluidic motion_.

Jester was nothing, if not sure of himself.

* * *

It wasn't until the day of his performance Jester realized he had failed to address the problem of his shrinking outfit. Jester swung his arms experimentally. He wore it daily, so the blue fabric was still supple enough to allow for range of movement-but his ankles and wrists were already clearly visible.

There was nothing to be done about it now.

Jester began his show: singing, dancing, juggling, and tumbling. He was on his last pass across the flagstone floor, his _grand finale_ of a double backflip, when he felt something give.

Or maybe something had pulled.

He wasn't sure.

Either way, before his feet hit the ground Jester suspected he had been completely _unmanned_. Yes, as of this moment, flying through the air, Jester had become a eunuch.

Being the professional he was, Jester stuck his landing, bowed, and hobbled (in the most comic fashion he could muster) to his room.

Further inspection revealed his pants had indeed _not_ ripped, which explained his injury. The pants themselves had caused his impairment.

It was most unfortunate.

The next morning Jester limped to town and ordered a new jester's uniform from the local seamstress. Until then: no tumbling.

* * *

It. Was. Glorious.

His vestments could not have turned out any better.

The jacket was a riot of oranges and yellows, tight red sleeves with yellow piping, checks, a generous row of golden bells as buttons down the front. He could take off the jacket to reveal a black sleeveless shirt, with more yellow piping-perfect for a sweltering summer performance.

The fabric of the pants had been dyed to match the jacket, long stripes of color alternating with black.

Jester had modified their design to prevent any future trauma to his nether regions. Loose and flowing, the pants were billowy and wide all the way to the floor. With the quick cinch of a ribbon, the calves could be tightened against his leg. Also, the seamstress had cleverly suggested loops on the cuffs, allowing him to fold them under to create a type of short pants.

Paired with pink hose, red shoes, and a new hat, Jester looked like the sunrise. Or the sunset. Perhaps both at once.

After a good hour of preening, Jester marched off to join the others at lunch.

* * *

"Oh, that is most unfortunate." Smithy mumbled, eyes wide.

The group of friends had already begun their meal when Jester strutted up to the table.

"How do you like my new outfit everyone? Do I look fit to be a fool for the king?" Jester puffed up his chest, fists on his hips.

Dragon, who had been laying in walkway, burst out with a great bark of laughter.

"Quite so, Jester. What are you wearing?" Dragon angled his head this way and that, examining the ensemble.

"My new jester's uniform!" Jester pirouetted and ended with a flourish. "It is an outward expression of my creative inner self and splendid artistic soul. How does it look?"

"It looks like that time I expressed a whole wagon of pumpkins over the castle wall."

"Dragon! That is not nice!" Pepper scolded. "Be kind or no turnip soup for you."

"Agreed, Dragon." Jane shook a finger at her green friend. "Jester is _supposed_ to look silly."

"Maybe so," Dragon replied, "but how can he be the fool if no one can look directly at him?"

"Not to worry, Jane! He cannot hurt my feelings, though your support is appreciated. I know my outfit is without parallel." Jester began a series of cartwheels around the table. "What do you think, Rake? Do I shine like a thousand sunflowers turned to the heavens?" Seven, eight, nine cartwheels.

"I think you are making me seasick." Jester stopped his tumbling. Rake did look a bit green.

"Gunther?"

"I am sorry, but I cannot hear you over the discordant cacophony of your jacket." Gunther quipped, his tone without apparent rancor. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. Gunther pressed his hands to his ears, humming.

"What are you doing, you biscuit weevil?" Jane batted playfully at his shoulder. Gunther dropped his hands and smiled at Jester.

"No, it did not help. I can still hear the tortured screams of colors which died for your pants."

"Har _har,_ Gunther. Who knew you had the heart of a poet?" Jester laughed. "It does not matter what the lot of you think. I look forward to showing them off to the king and queen tomorrow!"

* * *

As it was, Jester almost missed his chance.

When he woke his jacket was still hanging innocently on its peg, but the pants were nowhere to be found. Confused but not wanting to be late, Jester donned his practice breeches and opened his door to the yard.

There in the light of the rising sun, at the very top of the highest battlement flag pole, fluttered Jester's pants.

Jester laughed heartily. He enjoyed a good prank as much as the next person. He would say nothing, and let the prankster have their fun.

Skipping lightly across the courtyard, Jester scaled the pole. Quick as a squirrel, he retrieved them.

* * *

The pants were missing the following morning as well. Smiling, Jester dressed and opened his door. He squinted into the morning light. No, they were not with the king's banners.

No matter. He would find them soon enough.

Jester so enjoyed a challenge.

A quick search found them in the garden, flying from the maypole.

* * *

That night, Jester made sure to lock his door. As fun as pranks were, he had almost been late to his appointment with the princess.

When he woke the following morning, the peg was empty. In fact, _none_ of his pants were anywhere to be found.

Well, this was unfortunate.

After a few minutes of frantic searching, Jester improvised. Wearing his longest, warmest winter cloak, Jester set out in search of his breeches.

* * *

This was getting ridiculous.

Adorning practice dummy, the throne room, hung with the tapestries, pinned amongst the drying laundry, stuffed with straw on the garden scarecrow, stretched with the burlaps over the practice yard, decorating the kitchen, even tugged onto a snoring Sir Ivan.

Jester's fancy pants were certainly well-traveled.

The mysterious pant-snatcher didn't strike _every_ night, but at least two to three times a week.

Jester learned several things:

First, the culprit could pick locks and open windows.

Second, Jester was an inordinately heavy sleeper.

Third, there was no apparent pattern to the thefts, making it impossible for Jester to eliminate possible suspects.

Fourth, Jester could not, no matter how hard he tried, stay up all night. Besides, the inconsistency of the thievery made such an exercise pointless.

Jester had even tried sleeping _in_ the pants, only to wake up completely naked and every stitch of clothing, every blanket, linen, and drapery removed from his room. The only thing left had been his new jacket, hanging on its peg. It mocked him.

Jester had not tried to sleep in his pants again.

On several occasions the pants had been stolen right under Jester's wakeful eye.

Perhaps the prankster was a magician.

Still, Jester had a champion sense of humor. It certainly alleviated the tedium of his own daily chores. It had inspired a number of funny anecdotes for the king. Besides, Jester had quite a number of pranks under his own belt...so to speak. It was retaliation of the highest order, and well deserved.

* * *

One morning, Jester woke to the wind howling, snow blowing, and his pants missing. Thankfully the prankster had left his other breeches.

It was the first winter storm of the season, and the blizzard hit hard. Keyholes whistled, shutters rattles, unlatched doors flew open without warning.

Outdoor activities were cancelled. The weather raged for three days. In between his duties with the royal family, Jester wandered the castle, searching, searching.

He turned up nothing. Jester reasoned the pants had been hidden out of doors, before the blizzard hit.

Well, he would find them eventually.

When the storm finally blew itself out, Jester woke to a bright glistening world of white...and his pants, frozen solid in a permanent colorful wave, from the battlement flagpole.

It took him a number of tries to climb the frozen pole. Jester almost fell twice and by the time he had finished, he had drawn quite a crowd.

Everyone loved a good acrobat, it seemed.

Crowing with success, he claimed his prize.

With considerable effort Jester shimmied into the frozen garments, drawing cries of sympathy from the other residents of the castle. He smiled happily.

It was the last time the pants disappeared.

And for Jester, it was most unfortunate.


End file.
